


you need a shower and a long nap but i love you

by natodiangelo



Category: Gintama
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Hospitals, I think?, M/M, Mild Blood, unnecessarily detailed descriptions of hijikata bc gintoki is gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 18:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13863093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natodiangelo/pseuds/natodiangelo
Summary: Hijikata’s here. Sleeping in the uncomfortable chair next to his hospital bed. Looking unkempt and unshowered and in desperate need of a change of clothes.And Gintoki really must be feeling those meds now because as he watches his eyelashes flutter and the steady rise and fall of his chest he can’t help but think about how handsome Hijikata is.





	you need a shower and a long nap but i love you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arashian155](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arashian155/gifts).



> written for [arashi](arashian155.tumblr.com) bc she loves to send me ginhiji prompts and im forever grateful lol
> 
> prompt: “Oh my God, I thought you were going to die. Please don’t ever scare me like that again.”

It’s a tough battle. By the end of it, Hijikata’s more than breathless, barely able to stand on his weak legs. He’s covered in sweat and dust and more blood than he expected, but they won.

He’s alive, and that’s all that really matters, right?

Medics are flooding the scene now, strapping people to stretchers and carrying them away, or kneeling to apply bandages and first aid. The number of bodies that are checked and left alone – dead, he knows, they’re dead and not just being ignored – are many. Too many. He clenches his jaw.

So many lives he couldn’t save. So many that slipped past his outstretched fingers, so many that cried out to him helplessly. He couldn’t save them. He couldn’t.

It’s hard to look around at the carnage, but he’s vice-captain, and he has to count heads, has to take check of how many casualties to report. His eyes scan over the blood sodden ground and he tries to identify each person he sees.

Yamazaki is sitting up not too far away, blood dried across his face but looking otherwise uninjured. Okita is dealing with the few fugitives that survived, handcuffing them and lining them up against the wall. Kondou is giving directions to new medics who walk up, pointing them to where they should go.

There’s many people he doesn’t recognize – those on the opposing team, those who got caught up in it without meaning to. Those who just wanted a fight. He glances over them until they’re just another smear on the bloody landscape, a destructive watercolor so fresh the paint is still wet and runny.

Then his eyes catch on someone – he can’t quite tell who they are from this distance, just a flash of color that seems familiar. He picks his way across the field, and freezes.

Because below him, laying very nearly lifeless, red covering more of him than not – his yukata, stained, the light color of his hair darkened with it – lays Sakata Gintoki.

 

Everything _hurts._

His head. His arms. His chest. Even his ass fees like it’s been stabbed, and not in a good way.

He tries to open his eyes, and it takes a minute for his brain to get the message , but then he’s looking up at a dimly lit white ceiling. It smells sterile in the room. Sharp and pungent, cutting through the fog like nothing else. Beneath that is something cloying and metallic. He wishes he didn’t need to breath.

He’s in a hospital. He could tell from the second he opened his eyes. His ceiling at home isn’t nearly so immaculate, spider-webbed as it is with cracks and stained from water damage he hasn’t had the money to fix. The consistent beeping of the machine next to him is also a clue.

He looks around. It’s a small room, with a window looking down and down and down. To the right is a door, which he assumes is the bathroom. In front, past the end of the bed, is a set of shelves, on which sit his blood-stained yukata and the broken ends of his bokken.

There’s movement beside him – he quickly turns his head. In a chair next to the window, slouched uncomfortably, brow furrowed, lays Hijikata. He’s still in a dirty uniform, hair matted and greasy, like he hasn’t left this room in a couple of days. He twitches in his sleep, and with his arms crossed across his chest like they are Gintoki can clearly see the tension in his shoulders.

It’s… a surprising scene, to say the least. Never would he have imagined that Hijikata of all people would show up at the hospital with him. Or, even if he did, he wouldn’t expect him to be there so long as to fall asleep in the chair beside his bed.

He thinks he’s probably hyped up on meds because the thought that Hijikata was worried for him makes something warm bloom in his chest. That Hijikata cared for him, that he was concerned enough to stay and wait and _sleep_ next to Gintoki-

It’s not that Gintoki’s never had people care for him. He has. Shoyo and Otose and the absolute devils that people call his children. They care for him. He wouldn’t be surprised to see them sitting next to him in the hospital – happy, yes, of course, but surprised? No.

But Hijikata? He always thought Hijikata hated him. They’ve fought together and they’ve fought each other, and Gintoki knows that Hijikata is reliable – reliable and steadfast, sturdy. Loyal. But they’ve never really gotten along. They bicker and argue and fight and Gintoki’s never thought twice about it, but-

He’s here. Sleeping in the uncomfortable chair next to his hospital bed. Looking unkempt and unshowered and in desperate need of a change of clothes.

And Gintoki _really_ must be feeling those meds now because as he watches his eyelashes flutter and the steady rise and fall of his chest he can’t help but think about how handsome Hijikata is.

And then Hijikata’s eyes open and he’s staring into steely blue.

“Gintoki.”

All at once the tension leaves Hijikata, and he falls back against the chair with a sigh of relief. He rubs a tired hand over his eyes and when he speaks again, his voice is soft, vulnerable.

“I thought you were going to die,” He says. “Don’t… please don’t do that again.”

It catches Gintoki off guard, the emotion in Hijikata’s voice. He blinks at him, hesitates, but eventually opens his mouth. “It’ll take more than that to take me out.” His voice is gruff from unuse, throat somewhat sore, but Hijikata snorts out a laugh so Gintoki doesn’t mind.

Now that he’s awake it’s even more apparent just how exhausted Hijikata is. Deep bags crowd under eyes that can barely stay open. His shoulders sag and he’s only barely able to stifle a yawn.

“Go home.” Gintoki tells him. Hijikata looks up at him, surprised, maybe a little hurt. “You look like shit. Go rest.”

Hijikata stays silent for a moment, averting his eyes. Gintoki huffs frustratedly.

“Why the hell are you still here anyways? Not the first time I’ve been in the hospital.” _Definitely_ not the first, and most likely nowhere near the last. “I’ve had plenty worse than this. Don’t even hurt that much. Besides, you hate me, so why-“

“Because I fucking care about you!”

Gintoki balks.

The outburst fades as quickly as it happened, but it shakes Gintoki to his core. Hijikata looks out the window, flustered; Gintoki watches his face slowly red.

“I care about you.” He repeats, this time softer. Slowly, he turns to meet Gintoki’s gaze, and Gintoki’s taken aback by the look in his eyes. Not exactly confident, not quite resolve – something in the middle, between affection and anger.

It’s the meds, Gintoki quickly reasons. It’s the meds that make Hijikata’s eyes stand out so much, bright like the sky on a hot summer day. It’s the meds that turn the flush on his face into something so endearing, and the meds that speed up the beat of his heart into a confusing cacophony.

And he realizes that the silence is staling, suffocating, and he needs to say something before Hijikata does-

“What the hell, bastard, who said you could get so sappy on me?”

Of course, it’s the meds that make him say that, as well.

“You almost _died_.” Hijikata says, eyes wide. “What was I going to do with your kids if you were gone? What about your debt?”

“My kids will inherit my debt. They’ll pay it off.”

“Bullshit!”

“Excuse me.”

A nurse walks in, pale floral scrubs obscured by the arms crossed over their chest, hair pulled back to reveal a deadly frown.

“If you are disturbing my patient, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Hijikata flounders. “I’m- Terribly sorry, he just-“ He swallows, sinks further into his chair. “I’ll be quiet, I promise.”

They give him another hard look, but eventually turn to Gintoki. “I have to run some more tests on you now.”

 

It’s an hour before the nurse leaves. Gintoki’s got a dozen more pinpricks covered with gauze, and another bag of whatever they gave him before to numb the pain. They listed off everything he had broken (a couple of ribs, one arm in two places), noted the worst of the other injuries (a slight concussion, major blood loss), and inform him that whatever had happened _really_ shouldn’t happen again.

Not that he’d be able to stop himself. He agrees just to please them.

And them they’re gone and he and Hijikata are alone.

For a moment, it’s quiet. Pale evening light flows in from the window, and only the steady beeping of the machine attached to him breaks up the still air.

“Gintoki.”

“Now, I should rest, y’know, doctor’s orders.”

“Gintoki.”

The serious note in his voice puts Gintoki off. It – it scares him. Sounds so much like something is going to happen, with the terse energy around them. It’s heavy and pressing, clamoring for attention Gintoki doesn’t want to give, calling forth emotions Gintoki doesn’t want to feel-

“Gintoki.”

And this time, Hijikata’s closer. He stands next to the bed, leans down, and all Gintoki can think is that even exhausted, even with the deep bags under his eyes and his hair a tangled, greasy mess, he still looks good.

And it scares him.

But Hijikata leans in closer and closer, until there’s mere inches between them, centimeters. Until they’re breathing each other’s air and Gintoki feels like his heart has forgotten how to beat.

“I hope I’m not reading this wrong.” The words lay thick between them.

“Just kiss me.”

And he does.


End file.
